


Hand and Heart I Do Resign

by Jael, pir8grl



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Based on a ballad, F/M, Sara is badass in any time or place, Songfic, if it's worth doing it's worth overdoing is Sara's motto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29763585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pir8grl/pseuds/pir8grl
Summary: Sara Lance is rich, but she needs to marry. Leonard Snart is poor and has a past that isn't helping. When Sara sees Leonard at a wedding, she's fascinated...but not only does he barely know she exists, they're in completely different social strata. So, what's a rich girl to do?Challenge him to a duel, of course!Based on a post about the ballad "The Berkshire Lady's Garland."
Relationships: CaptainCanary - Relationship, Leonard Snart & Mick Rory, Sara Lance/Leonard Snart
Comments: 18
Kudos: 27





	Hand and Heart I Do Resign

**Author's Note:**

> So. I (Jael) happened to see this Twitter thread on the ballad "The Berkshire Lady's Garland" and immediately thought, "Oh. That's the most Sara Lance thing EVER. This is so a CaptainCanary story waiting to happen."
> 
> And because CC and because ballad, I promptly sent it to Pir8grl, who took one look and also said, "TOTALLY SARA." 
> 
> And fic happened. Enjoy!
> 
> (These are only some of the lyrics from the ballad. Google it. It's a hoot.)

Based upon the ballad “The Berkshire Lady’s Garland”

* * *

**_Bachelors of every station,_ **

**_Mark this strange and true relation,_ **

**_Which in brief to you I bring,_ **

**_Never was a stranger thing._ **

* * *

Leonard Snart had worked long and hard to remove himself from the shadow of his father’s reputation. He’d scrimped and saved and managed to gain enough schooling to learn the law. Still, there were those who looked down their noses, expecting him to revert to type. It stung. 

It was hard sometimes and lonely. Leonard knew no upper-class family would ever look on him as a suitable match for their daughter. Sure, as the town’s barrister, they included him in functions like this wedding, but he always felt like it was just another way of pointing out just how much of an outsider they all considered him.

That was fine. Truly. He had his work, and his sister, and his closest friend, Mick. It was more than many people had. It was good.

Truly.

Leonard sighed and took a drink, looking around the room. Well, while he’d rather like a spouse of similar...disposition...he could definitely do without all this pageantry. So, there was that.

* * *

**_Some will wed for love of treasure_ **

**_But the sweetest joy and pleasure_ **

**_Is in faithful love you’ll find,_ **

**_Graced with a noble mind._ **

* * *

Laurel Lance frowned in irritation at her younger sister. 

“You did it again, didn’t you? Turned down another perfectly good suitor. What exactly was wrong with Raymond Palmer?” she hissed, trying to maintain a calm, ladylike facade. They were on their way to a wedding, after all.

“Seriously? He’s boring. You couldn’t find someone more different from me if you tried.” Sara looked away, out the window of the coach, independent as always. So very different from Laurel.

“Sara, you have to marry someone,” Laurel explained again. “The law says a daughter can’t inherit until she weds.” A pause. “You know, this could have been your wedding. You and Oliver--”

Sara sighed, more in annoyance than regret. “Felicity is a much better match for him.”

“You can’t keep turning down every nice fellow in town, you know,” Laurel persisted. “Who’s left? You turned down Henry Allen’s son--”

“Too young. He’s like my little brother.”

“The Kent boy--”

“You want me to marry a farmer?”

“The father’s a farmer. The son’s a writer.” Laurel sighed. “That fellow who works with Allen’s boy--what’s his name? Dolby?

“Dibney. And no. Just-- **_no_ ** .” Sara snorted, a distinctly unladylike sound.

Laurel closed her eyes. “You know Tommy and I will always make sure you’re looked after--”

“I don’t want to be looked after!” Sara bristled. “Father left me money to be sure I didn’t have to be! I don’t care what the law says! It’s mine!”

This time, Laurel did frown. Sometimes it was hard to get through to Sara that what  _ should  _ be wasn’t what  _ was _ . “Father and Mother let you have entirely too much freedom,” she said crossly. “The world doesn’t change just because you want it to.” She drew in a deep, calming breath. “What about Bruce Wayne?”

Sara snorted again, taking a childish satisfaction in knowing full well that the sound would irritate her sister. “Selina Kyle might have something to say about that. And don’t even think of suggesting Dick!”

* * *

**_Being at a noble wedding,_ **

**_Near the famous town of Redding,_ **

**_A young gentleman she saw,_ **

**_Who belonged to the law._ **

* * *

Sara sat at one of the high tables, picking at the fine meal in a way that would have horrified her lady mother. She glanced out at the eligible young men that she’d already declined and scowled. None of their families had considered she or Laurel a “suitable match” until her father had come into his sudden fortune. 

She didn’t want to be seen as a prize or a dowry--she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life doing nothing more than planning fancy parties and having babies. Sara wanted to be loved for who she was--the rough and tumble girl who adored hunting and riding and adventure. 

And, of course, fighting. Despite the near-universal feelings about young ladies and swordplay, Sara’s father had insisted on teaching her (and Laurel, though Laurel hadn’t taken to it quite like Sara) the basics. Sara had, of course, taught herself far more on her own. She definitely preferred it to nearly all the things young ladies were  _ supposed  _ to do.

Of all the “suitable young men” in town, Oliver probably  **_was_ ** the closest in temperament, but once he met Felicity, well, that was that. Love at first sight, just like in the songs. She couldn’t find it in her heart to begrudge their happiness. She just wished she could find some for herself. 

Her gaze drifted towards the back tables. The people seated there were invited merely as a matter of form, not for the pleasure of their company. They were served last and offered lesser vintages to drink. Still, those folk were less stiffly formal and seemed to be making their own merriment. She envied them, really.

One gentleman, in particular, caught her eye. He appeared rather more sober than the people around him. He had a strikingly handsome face with piercing blue eyes set off by close-cropped salt and pepper hair, and he wore a neat dark blue suit of clothes and impeccable white linen. 

He looked...interesting. For one thing, he seemed to be amusing nearby guests with some sort of sleight of hand trick with a coin. He smiled with particular kindness at a young girl seated beside him. A sister, perhaps? 

Sara wondered if it might be possible to arrange an introduction, a thought that rather startled her with its suddenness. But then, Robert Queen stood to give a speech, and she sighed. There was no way a young lady swathed in yards of stiff, rustling satin could step down from one of the high tables without causing a fuss. 

Laurel poked her with an elbow. “Smile!” she hissed. 

Sara ignored the order. “Who is that man? The one in blue?” she whispered, motioning with a hand.

Laurel looked vaguely aghast. “At the back table? What…” She shook her head. “Never you mind. Now hush, Master Queen is speaking.”

Sara hushed, and she smiled--or at least, stopped frowning quite so much--but she really couldn’t keep her eyes from that intriguing gentleman. She had no clear idea why, but she really, truly felt the urge to meet him.

* * *

**_Privately she then enquir’d,_ **

**_About him so much admir’d,_ **

**_Both his name and where he dwelt,_ **

**_Such was the hot flames she felt._ **

* * *

If the meal and speeches had been bad, well the entertainment was excruciating. The tables were cleared away for dancing. Those seated at the high tales gathered in the center of the floor for formal set dances. Sara had always adored music and dancing, but this overly stylized prancing about, being passed from one man to another, was torture. 

She did, however, use it to her advantage, inquiring discreetly about the mystery man in blue. Mostly, her partners pretended to have no idea who she meant (which only intensified her curiosity). Finally, it was young Bartholomew Allen who stammered and blushed an answer. 

“That’s Leonard Snart. He’s a barrister.”

Sara was puzzled at that bit of information. “But that’s a perfectly respectable profession.” She glanced over her shoulder, trying to catch a glance. “Why is everyone treating him like dirt? Or rather, like he doesn’t exist?”

The steps called for Bartholomew to hand Sara off to the next gentleman, but she stubbornly set her feet. 

He sighed in resignation and led her from the dance floor. “Let’s go get an ice.”

Refreshments in hand, they settled on a bench to observe the festivities. Sara noticed with a sigh that the guests from the back tables had spilled out of the hall onto the grounds. They appeared to be having much more fun than the ones inside. 

“Talk,” she ordered, shoveling ice into her mouth in a fashion guaranteed to annoy her sister, should she happen to observe it. 

Bartholomew sighed, poking at his own ice. “Leonard isn’t such a bad sort, himself,” he explained. “It’s, um, his father. He was a thief and a murderer and he...this isn’t something I should be discussing with a lady,” he floundered. 

“My father was a constable long before he became the Lord Mayor,” Sara reminded him. “I grew up hearing all sorts of tales. I want to know.”

Her companion gave in. “Well, like I said, Lewis Snart was a very bad man,” he admitted. “Everyone knew that he beat his children, but no one did anything about it. Then one day he just...disappeared.” He shrugged again, not meeting Sara’s curious eyes. “It was...no one could prove anything one way or another. Everyone just believed that one of his gangs finally turned on him. Leonard swore he was at home that night, minding his sister. The next day, he walked into the barrister’s office and asked to be apprenticed.”

Sara considered this a long moment. “He sounds like a good man,” she said quietly.

“I think he is. It’s just…” Bartholomew sighed again, somehow managing to look even younger. “Nothing could ever be proven, but there was always talk that Lewis Snart had used his children to break into places that were too small for a grown man. I guess people think that Leonard could still follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“That’s not fair,” Sara said softly.

“No. It’s not.”

Sara wasn’t really listening to him, though. “I want to meet him.”

Bartholomew’s eyes went wide. “Sara, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

She shrugged at him. “You just said you think he’s a good man!”

“I do!” He looked away. “But honestly...the “good families” of this town have never been particularly good to Leonard. I just don’t think he’d react very well. I think he’d be afraid you were trying to humiliate him in public.”

Sara rolled her eyes--while noting that the younger man seemed to know this Leonard quite well. “I would never do such a thing!”

“I know that.” He sighed again, spreading his hands out in front of him. “It’s just...sometimes when someone is so used to being treated so badly, they don’t know how to react to kindness. If the former Lord Mayor’s daughter were to approach him, here at Oliver Queen’s wedding, Leonard would think it was a cruel joke. He’d react badly, and you know you’ve got a temper of your own.”

“So we have to figure out a way for me to meet him that’s not quite so public,” Sara mused.

“I’m really not sure that’s such a good idea…”

“And you’ll help me, won’t you?”

“Um…”

* * *

**_Night and morning for a season,_ **

**_In her closet would she reason_ **

**_With herself, and often said,_ **

**_Why has love my heart betray’d?_ **

* * *

“Seriously, Sara? You turned down Thomas Elliot of the Gotham Elliots? What is wrong with you?”

Sara shuddered. Something about that man just raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It wasn’t something she could really explain, just a feeling. A very strong one. 

And besides, Thomas Elliot wasn’t Leonard Snart. The more she learned about Leonard--and she’d been doing a good deal of investigation--the more she was drawn to him. She had a feeling he’d understand what it felt like to not quite fit in. 

Laurel threw her hands in the air, turning away and stalking off. “I give up. Maybe Bartholomew can talk some sense into you. He’s waiting for you in the drawing room. Mind you stay there with the door open!” she called back after her sister. 

Sara scooped up her skirts and pelted down the hall at a pace that was the opposite of ladylike. Although she’d grudgingly accepted Bartholomew’s advice against a formal introduction to Leonard at a public event, she’d been trying to concoct a way of meeting him on her own terms. And she finally thought she’d found it. 

* * *

**_He that has my heart in keeping,_ **

**_Tho' I for his sake be weeping;_ **

**_Little knows what grief I feel,_ **

**_But I'll try it out with steel._ **

* * *

Bartholomew stared at her, his mouth hanging open. “I’m sorry. You want to  **_what_ ** ?”

“Challenge him to a duel,” Sara repeated patiently . “Look, you said it yourself--if the Lord Mayor’s daughter asks for a formal introduction, he’ll think it’s a nasty joke. But people treat him like a criminal because of his father, so if I send him a challenge he’ll know how to respond.” She smiled. “He’ll show up.”

“Sara, that is so far beyond inappropriate that I don’t even know where to begin.” Bartholomew sounded positively lost.

He didn’t get it. But...why should he? “Look, I’ve had to deal with all these proposals from men I don’t even know who just want to get their hands on my money.” Sara got up and paced a few steps before turning around. “Don’t tell me about inappropriate. Leonard is someone I chose--”

“Sara, you don’t even know the man!” Bartholomew protested. 

“ **_Yet_ ** . And that’s where this plan comes in.”

“This is a  **_terrible_ ** plan.”

* * *

**_For I will a challenge send him_ **

**_And appoint where I’ll attend him;_ **

**_In a grove without delay,_ **

**_By the dawning of the day._ **

* * *

Leonard Snart prided himself on being an educated man. He tried very, very hard to couple that education with at least a veneer of polite civility. However, he’d grown up under less than ideal circumstances, and he did have a full vocabulary of...more colorful metaphors...at his disposal, should the occasion call for it. 

This occasion? It called for it.

Mick Rory leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for Leonard to exhaust his ire...and his vocabulary. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so wound up?” he finally managed to ask. 

Leonard balled up the parchment he’d been staring at and tossed it at his friend. “I’ve been accused of breaking some woman’s heart,” he hissed at the other man. “Her champion--someone called The Canary, if you can believe that--demands satisfaction.”

Mick looked puzzled--probably both at the notion that his oft-solitary friend had broken someone’s heart and that someone had made such a demand. “Satisfaction? You mean like--”

“--rapiers at dawn,” Leonard replied sourly, folding his arms. “I swear, I’m going to take Lisa and find some other village to live in.”

Mick rolled his eyes as the drama. “Uh-huh. And if that’s a legitimate complaint, they’ll send the bailiff after you,” he reminded Leonard. 

“How can this possibly be legitimate?” Leonard demanded, fists clenched, as Mick held up his hands as if in self-defense. “The only women in this town who’re willing to be seen speaking to Lewis Snart’s son are not the sort I want to associate with, and certainly not the sort to have champions to defend their honor.”

“Uh-huh,” Mick repeated with a sigh. “And the word of Lewis Snart’s son is going to count for exactly what against the word of whoever had the clout to set this up?”

And Leonard had no response.

* * *

**_Be of courage and make ready,_ **

**_Faint heart never won fair lady,_ **

**_In regard it must be so,_ **

**_I along with you will go._ **

* * *

Leonard and Mick were waiting by the fountain, at dawn, as specified. Finally, they spied a handsome coach trundling down the lane. The crest on the door was muffled with plain black cloth and instead of a liveried coachman--

“Bartholomew?” Leonard exclaimed in disbelief. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here?”

The younger man threw the brake and secured the reins, then slipped down to the ground. He rubbed a hand behind his neck, even as his cheeks flushed red. “Er...well, I’m here as The Canary’s second.”

Mick let loose a snort of laughter, and Leonard fixed him with a sour look. 

“Who exactly is this Canary?” he shot at the newcomer. “And how can you possibly be involved in this foolishness? You know me better than just about anyone in this town. How can you possibly think I broke some woman’s heart?”

The younger man squirmed. “Well...maybe you should ask her yourself.”

Leonard looked past him to the coach. More specifically, to the woman who was climbing out of the coach. 

Yes...definitely a woman. She was dressed in a black leather corset, breeches, and boots. A black leather duster flared out dramatically but did very little to conceal the woman’s slender figure. A black leather domino partially obscured her features, but Leonard felt sure that he’d never seen this woman before. 

He was certain he’d remember those bright blue eyes that were fixed on him so fearlessly.

Still, he at least tried to observe the niceties of the situation. “Madam,” he intoned, bowing. 

She acknowledged him with a curt nod. No words. No reasons. Damn it.

“I’m not entirely sure what we’re all doing here,” Leonard drawled, driven past frustration to an edge of anger. “I can assure you, madam, that I’ve not intentionally offered insult to anyone’s honor.” He took a deep breath. “And if I’ve somehow inadvertently given offense, then I offer my sincere apology, but I will not duel with someone over whom I hold an unfair advantage in height and reach.”

She didn’t react in any of the ways he might have expected. Rather: “I notice you didn’t mention skill,” she said lightly, grinning.

Leonard’s chin went up. He was a fair hand at swordplay, though he didn’t know any women who also claimed skill at it. “I wouldn’t presume to comment upon the skills of someone I’ve only just met.”

“We won’t fight the kid, neither,” Mick added, obviously trying to be helpful.

“Hey!” Bartholomew exclaimed.

“Not helping,” Leonard gritted out between clenched teeth, without looking back at his friend.

“I’m always up for a good fight,” the woman informed him, sweeping back her duster on one side to reveal the rapier on her hip. “But I do have a counter proposal.”

“Which is?”

“Marry me.”

* * *

**_It is I who did invite you,_ **

**_You shall wed me or I’ll fight you,_ **

**_Underneath those spreading trees;_ **

**_Therefore choose you which you please._ **

* * *

**_“What?”_ ** Leonard felt sure he’d misheard her. Marry? He’d never thought to marry. And this...

“You heard me.” The woman’s chin went up. “You, good sir, have broken my heart.”

Leonard let out a long breath. “Lady, I don’t even know who you are,” he told her helplessly. “Take off the mask and we’ll talk.”

She didn’t back down. “No. Either marry me or fight me. Those are my terms.”

She grinned again, and Leonard noticed she had dimples. And she held herself like she actually knew how to fight. Intriguing. 

Or she would be, if she hadn’t so obviously escaped from Bedlam. 

“Mick, what did you put in my tea?” Leonard asked plaintively, looking over his shoulder.

Mick shrugged. “Lisa made the tea,” he informed his friend, “and whatever’s going on here, it weren’t what we drank, because I’m hearing the same thing as you.”

The woman was listening. “I promise you, I’ll make it well worth your while to marry me,” she promised lightly. “Or we can fight. I’m good at that.”

Bartholomew winced at her choice of words. Leonard just stared, trying to figure out exactly what was going on here. 

“Why don’t you discuss matters with your friend?” she suggested after a moment. “I can wait.” Another grin. “You’ll find I can be very patient.”

Bartholomew actually snorted at that. 

* * *

**_While this charming lady waited,_ **

**_The young bachelors debated,_ **

**_Which was best for to be done;_ **

**_Quoth his friend, the hazard run._ **

* * *

Leonard and Mick strolled off towards the trees, Mick seeming still calm, Leonard fairly agitated. 

“What do you think of this nonsense?” he finally demanded of his friend, turning and confronting Mick, struggling with indignation...and, somewhere, a faint sense of...admiration.

Mick shrugged. “Well, I think you should just marry her.”

Leonard blinked. “Are you drunk?” he demanded. “Or did you hit your head on something?”

Mick heaved a heavy sigh, spreading his hands out before him again. “Look, Boss, all I’m saying is she ain’t bad looking--well, what we can see of her, anyway,” he said. “But she does look light and quick. It could be that she might beat you with a rapier.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I call it like I see it,” the big man said philosophically. “An’ let’s put it this way: She’s kinda your type.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“Snart, I know the people you like. Smart and tough and strong. You don’t find many like that. ‘Specially not...eligible...ones.” He shrugged again. “And say you marry her. She says she’ll make it worth your while. You could end up rich. Or at least, more respectable than people find you now. Hey, should help business.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes, trying not to show that the words struck home. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’re no worse off than you are now. Except you got an...interesting wife. One you might actually hit it off with. And it puts an end to this dueling nonsense.”

“Bartholomew knows her...whoever she is,” Leonard mused. “He’s in this up to his eyes, but he’d never be involved with a bad person.”

“He ain’t got it in him,” Mick agreed. 

There was a long, quiet pause.

Then Leonard straightened his neckcloth. “Well. I guess I’m getting married.”

* * *

**_He consented to be married,_ **

**_In her coach they all were carried,_ **

**_To a church without delay,_ **

**_Where he weds the lady gay._ **

* * *

They didn’t go to the village church, but rather to a small private chapel of the sort built on grand estates. The vicar shook his head at the bride, but also smiled and performed the ceremony anyway. Leonard wondered at the legality of it all, especially since the old man never demanded that the bride remove her mask...or used her proper name, for that matter. 

More and more, it seemed that this must be some sort of elaborate jest. Especially when the carriage then delivered them at a manor house that Leonard knew belonged to the late Lord Mayor. There, his bride deposited him in a grand drawing room…

And locked him inside. 

Leonard definitely did not care for that. Not at all. 

For one thing, there were entirely too many fine objects in the room that he could be accused of stealing. After all, a bride in black leather? And a  **_mask?_ ** No one would ever believe that. No...he was certainly being set up to take the fall for some awful crime, he decided, pacing. No one would ever believe the son of Lewis Snart was innocent in any of this. He had to get out-- **_now_ ** \--find where Mick and Bartholomew had disappeared to and--

The door unlocked then, and swung open with a soft sound that was lost in the whisper of a silk gown and petticoats. The woman who stood framed in the doorway was beyond beautiful. Tumbled golden curls framed a face graced with dancing bright blue eyes. 

The same bright blue eyes he’d seen peering at him through a mask. The same dimpled grin. The same gold band he’d placed on her hand not so long ago. Leonard swallowed, suddenly losing track of all the thoughts he’d had only moments ago.

“I’m Sara,” she informed him simply.

It took Leonard a few tries to get enough air to form words. “I’m Leonard...but I think you knew that already.”

“I do.” Sara took a few steps toward him before pausing, watching him steadily. She seemed as though she was waiting for something.

“What on earth  **_was_ ** all of that?” he finally demanded, knowing his voice was torn between something rather plaintive and something more irritated.

Sara took a few steps more. “That was our wedding, dear,” she told him lightly. “It’ll make quite the story to tell our children some day, don’t you think?”

Leonard still felt lost. “That was real...and legal...and…”

Sara nodded. “I assure you it was. Are you...disappointed?” she asked, sounding uncertain for the first time.

Leonard just stared for a few long moments. “No,” he finally said, slowly. “I don’t...I don’t think so. Just...confused. You’re an heiress. You...you’re lovely. You could have any man you wanted.”

“I didn’t want any other of those other men,” Sara agreed. “I chose you.”

It didn’t make sense. Him? Seriously? “Why?” he demanded suspiciously. 

Sara’s smile didn’t reappear yet, but her eyes were very, very direct and serious. “Because you’re someone who made his own choices, and built the life he wanted, not the one society dictated,” she told him simply. “I need to marry, and….I thought we’d do well together. I didn’t think you’d ask me, in any circumstances, so I took matters into my own hands.”

Leonard blinked. “Why do I get the feeling you do that a lot?”

Sara’s impish grin reappeared as she stepped forward yet again, well and truly into Leonard’s personal space. “You have no idea,” she purred. She took hold of his shirtfront with surprisingly strong hands. Then she stretched up on her toes--slowly, letting him pull away if he wished--and when he didn’t, kissed him soundly.

Well. There wasn’t really anything he could say to that, so he wrapped his arms around her waist and continued that kiss.

* * *

**_I can be no longer cruel_ **

**_To my joy and only jewel,_ **

**_Thou art mine, and I am thine,_ **

**_Hand and heart I do resign._ **

* * *

**One year later...**

The house was less formal now. Laurel had her own home to decorate as she pleased, and Sara preferred things a bit...cozier. 

The drawing room had been converted into a library. Leonard gloried in books, and Sara was delighted to oblige him. And if Sara wished to practice swordfighting in what used to be the ballroom, well, Leonard was happy to oblige  _ her _ . Especially if those training sessions happened to evolve into other more...interesting...physical activities. 

Well, until the last few months, anyway. They were now expecting their first child. Sara was less than pleased with her current size and lack of mobility. Lisa, on the other hand, was delighted at the prospect of being an aunt. 

Sara had insisted on providing a generous dowry and new wardrobe, and Lisa was being courted by a young inventor from the village. Leonard took every opportunity to glower at the young man, but he also drafted all his contracts for him, ensuring that he’d be fairly compensated for his devices. After all, he wanted to be sure that his sister had a good home and secure future. 

Mick had moved into the gate house. There was enough hunting and fishing on the estate to keep him out of trouble--and their table filled quite nicely. He was also quite pleased with his new status as “Uncle Mick.”

Perhaps their household was a bit unconventional, but it was filled with the sort of love that Leonard had never known as a child, and the acceptance that Sara had always craved.  It was home. 

And after all, no matter what strange path they'd taken to get there, Sara was right.

It _did_ make a good story.

* * *

**_Now he’s cloth’d in rich attire,_ **

**_Not inferior to a squire,_ **

**_Beauty, honour, riches, store,_ **

**_What can man desire more?_ **


End file.
